


Sins of the Father

by empriix



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Female Uzumaki Naruto, Gen, Harems, Inspired by Inuyasha and Yu Yu Hakusho, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Not Canon Compliant, OCs galore, Other, Reverse Harem, Rule 63, genderbender, loosely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26224858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empriix/pseuds/empriix
Summary: Supernatural wasn't really a word used by the Five Great Nations and everyone in between, but it can happen. In which Uzumaki Naruto is a little odder than usual, and it's not because of the giant, raging demon fox in her. If she can blame it on anyone, it has to be dad, and her grandma, and her great-grandma, and maybe just everyone on that side of her family.
Relationships: Ootsutsuki Indra/Original Female Character(s), Senju Tobirama/Original Female Character(s), Uchiha Shisui/Original Female Character(s), Uzumaki Naruto & Original Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 31





	1. To Begin

**Author's Note:**

> I, in no way, shape, or form, own the manga/anime Naruto. This is, after all, fanfiction.

Indra has a daughter. 

And frankly, he’s reminded to tender memories—soft and fuzzy around the edges—when he a child and waiting to hold Asura. Those precious years before his memories became sharp, clear and crisp, and meditation brought those images to the forefront like the present. She’s red and wrinkly, face squished and she’s wailing her life out but she’s his daughter. 

He shares a tender smile with his wife, her tired eyes looking silver in the moonlight. Thank the gods above for the pond they’d found—purified by his wife’s touch. 

Here, under the linden tree, Indra feels such elation, such joy and such calm. 

(Indra hasn’t felt this in years—not since his eyes had stung that afternoon and he’d killed.) 

“Yumeya.” 

It’s a quiet murmur between the two of them, hanging in the air but when the world’s asleep, whispers speak volumes. His love runs a hand over their daughter’s face, soothing the fussing newborn and lulling her to sleep. She’s a fighter—strong and independent already; his daughter refuses her mother’s soft soothings. 

She’ll grow to be handful—just like him and Asura. 

But she’s too beautiful to give any less of a name. 

“Yumeya,” his love coos, and their baby settles for a moment, sniffling but batting at her chest still. “You are a dream come true.”

Indra wraps his arms around the both of them, bringing his loves back into his chest. A gentle hand on his daughter’s head coaxes her to sleep while its brother, tracing a _kagome_ crest on his wife’s hip, coaxes his love to sleep. The water should feel cold, should make his clothes feel heavy as they cling to skin, but Indra can’t feel any lighter. 

(For once, the thought of his inheritance is nary a trace in his mind.)

**.**

**.**

**.**

Gold eyes, empty they may be, watch them. 

A mouth curls in distaste, sharp teeth cutting into unbleeding flesh. 

Zetsu should’ve killed her sooner but her death would be timely and as he planned. 

**.**

**.**

**.**

Yumeya isn’t even a day old and his father is already barging his way into his daughter’s life and monopolizing all her time. Surely, his wife’s condition is still fragile but not so fragile as insects’ wings. But the great Sage of Six Paths is delighted and so the Sage will get his way. Hagoromo is absolutely ecstatic with the birth of his first grandchild and first granddaughter. 

It sparks a possessiveness in him that’s ugly and makes Indra scowl. 

The feeling startles him all the same, ruining the peaceful mood he’d been in having spent the entire night holding his loves. 

“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” Hagoromo praises Indra, a thumb swiping with a feather light touch over her round cheek. “Though, she looks quite a bit like you, Indra.” 

“She’s my daughter.” 

His father stops in his fawning, purple eyes widening for an instance until his mask returns. The cool, calm expression his father wears daily like his garb. It’s a considering, thoughtful look, filled with wisdom though he looks hard and stony all the same. It’s certainly why people fear Hagoromo. 

“A father, already, I see, Indra.” 

Perhaps, Hagoromo’s words were meant to be teasing but more and more Indra feels the mockery in them. 

(His father had always been a firm, guiding hand but never really a loving one.)

“Yumeya is my daughter.” 

Hagoromo considers his eldest before handing off the babe. 

(Perhaps, this fatherhood would bring about a good change in his eldest?)

**.**

**.**

**.**

His wife doesn’t recover from their daughter’s birth. 

In fact, her health declines. 

‘Poison,’ Indra’s mind supplies, ‘someone poisoned her.’

It’s the only explanation he will accept in the haze of grief that clouds his mind, seizes his limbs and makes him feel like _nothing_. Indra is many great things in the eyes of his father’s followers—a touch cold like the Sage, but brilliant, strong, and a leader. But this pit in his stomach never leaves. His love had been ill during her pregnancy—a thing his father waved off, saying that his mother was the same with him and Asura but Indra never took those words at face value. Because his wife has never been sick, full of so much life and vigour—an incarnate of the sun. She has been sick, but she shouldn’t be sick. 

A horrible, horrible feeling clings to his back, claws deep enough to score at his heart. Its accompanied by whispers of death dogging at his footsteps. 

Yumeya is barely a year old and yet she spends more time with Indra than she does with her mother. 

It makes Indra feel like he has a mouthful of acid. 

He’d never imagine having to spend the rest of his life with his love bedridden, weakness clinging to her limbs like wet clothes in a downpour. 

His wife is practically an invalid. 

He is Ōtsutsuki Indra, such a burden is beneath him. 

But he can’t leave her—refuses to. He loves her more and more with each passing day and she is his peace. She bridges the frigidness between him and his family when they don’t understand him. And he never has to worry about her understanding him because she always has. She is kind when he is strict, perhaps overly so, but his wife is good. She isa good person, a better person than anyone he knows. 

The love of his life doesn’t deserve this. 

And she certainly doesn’t deserve to be deserted. 

It’s the first time in a while that Indra admonishes himself for his thoughts.

Indra holds her tighter, reigning in his excitable toddler when she dashes into the room to join them. 

(Privately, he thinks of asking that odd, shadowy child about illnesses across the nations.)

**.**

**.**

**.**

It’s meticulous planning that’s led to the priestess’ fragile condition. 

Manipulating Indra, no matter the decade or so of planning he’d done, is still quite the feat. 

Hagoromo’s eldest has always been sharp, quick and wise beyond his years. It’s a boon in Zetsu’s favour that the child’s prodigious talent has alienated him a bit from the people he expects to lead. In the future, Indra will be far too engrossed in his rage and the peoples’ betrayal to realize he’d been an outsider all this time. But for now, the phantom needs to bide his time, and move with precision. 

It certainly was misfortunate that Indra managed to woo a priestess of the Old Times into being his wife. 

The wretch had set him back decades, maybe even centuries, with her flowery kindness and peace mongering. 

_Disgusting_. 

No matter, human lives are ephemeral at best while _yōkai_ are practically eternal. 

Besides, if he can’t have Indra, he’ll have the child. 

Though it’s easier still to lead Indra into thinking the someone had poisoned the priestess. 

(For every person that thought her a goddess, there was another that found her alien.)

**.**

**.**

**.**

Indra is twenty-five and a widower. 

Yumeya is eight and has to watch her mother be buried. 

The girl holds her father’s hand, holding her uncle’s with the other. 

Her grandfather speaks some words, though he needs to look off the parchment Mother had given him. It’s a written account of the ways funerals were to be done in Shinto—and old religion from Old Times. Her family had largely Buddhist influences—another religion from the Old Times—so Mother essentially wrote her last rites. 

It’s a sombre affair, not even a word spoken out of line from the demons that circle the family quietly.

Father holds her hand tighter, squeezing three times in quick succession. 

_I love you_. 

Father chances a glance at her; the red and black swirls in his eyes, not unlike her Grandfather’s, spinning. He’s memorizing her. Yumeya understands the feeling, staring back up at him with red and black eyes, black lines forming a _kagome_ crest with eight points. 

Unlike Father, her eyes have always been like this—a side effect, her parents had theorized, of her mother’s abilities. 

She had hated it—being called a freak and a demon by other children—but she loved the ability now. 

Every moment she’d had with Mother is forever seared in her mind. 

After all, eight years is not a lot of time in the scheme of things, but its eight years’ worth of memories she’ll have forever nonetheless. 

Grandfather sprinkles her mother’s ashes over the pond she’d been born in. 

Yumeya stares as the water glows like the full moon, and a gentle hum fills the air. The plants’ spring higher, leaves and stalks darkening and the trees tremble in quiet delight. Nature sings and she feels jealous that the world can enjoy her mother’s bliss again—because she’ll never feel that soothing calm again. 

Even in death, Mother had a way of bringing life into the world. 

**.**

**.**

**.**

Yumeya hates the ability again at nine years old. 

Her night visions are plagued with her father’s turned back, wild, raging chakra surrounding him as he leaves. 

There is no more comfort for her in this place. 

Except one. 

Sometimes, when she dips her feet into the Spirit Pool, Yumeya feels calm again. Like Mother is holding her and stroking her hair. Her mother would do that to lull her to sleep. And then Father—Father would come and sit down beside her, quiet as a mouse but aura large and looming; like distant thunder storms. Then, Father would join in Mother’s ministrations and rub circles on her back. 

It had been _their_ thing. 

_Had been_. 

As in, no longer was. 

And that, above all else, made the world all the more grey for Yumeya. 

(She can’t stand the look of her eyes in the mirror—bloody crimson with eight-pointed _kagome_ crests inked in.)

Ōtsutsuki Yumeya _was_ Indra’s daughter. 

But Yumeya was just Yumeya. 

And Yumeya was just a child. 

(She wasn’t the only one—Grandfather and Uncle couldn’t even look at her anymore.) 


	2. Complaining

Konoha was in chaos.

But that was the every day life of the village if the residents were to be honest with themselves.

“Get back here you little brat!”

Bright laughter—almost brighter than the sun—responded. “You got to catch me first!”

Four years old and already an experienced escape artist, one Uzumaki Naruto dodged the long legs and stray limbs in her path. The up-do Obā- _chan_ had done was coming apart, bright, sun yellow hair flying every which way—as if to accent her laughter. How bright and full of life it was, warm and clear.

And it suited her.

Uzumaki Naruto was a happy child—even if she head to deal with a few meanies.

(Privately, she called them bastards, but then Akashi and Akahiko would be mad.)

Because as angry as Akashi looked, chasing after her like one of the Inuzuka’s dogs, she could feel how delighted he really was.

After all, Akashi wasn’t hiding the blinding grin of his, practically splitting his face.

“You’re so slow, Akashi!”

Akashi squawked at the insult, spinning and ducking between the legs of a poor civilian. No doubt they’d be cursing them once again. Another bystander to the chase got a mouthful of Akashi’s red hair, spluttering and shouting as Akashi bounded away without so much as an apology. But before that could happen the pair had already scampered off to another district, still locked in their game of chase.

Neither Akashi nor Naruto acknowledged the heated stares following after their laughter and flurried footsteps.

“Those demon brats…”

“Hey!” The man was quickly shushed, his companion retracting their hand. “Don’t say that.”

The man grumbled, patting at the offended area. “We all know it’s true…”

Before his partner could reply, a smooth voice cut in.

“Ah, my apologies.”

They stiffened, spines suddenly made of ice. That was the only explanation they could offer as they shuddered and shivered. His smile placid and his face bright, it still didn’t do anything to melt the frost of Atari Akahiko’s presence.

Green eyes peered at them with a false kindness. “Forgive them, will you?”

“A-Ah… It wasn’t a problem, Atari- _san_.”

The teenager—and he was barely that at fourteen—didn’t acknowledge their response or reaction. Akahiko hummed jauntily, quietly and expertly weaving between the throngs of people in the crowded market. And yet the cold feeling, like waking up to the snow having frozen the world around you, didn’t leave.

“…Che. Those demon brats.”

“ _Quiet_! You’ll summon another one!”

**.**

**.**

**.**

“Well,” Akahiko started, sitting down on the edge of the Hokage Monument. “That’s another visit from the police force.”

Akashi and Naruto, ever unrepentant, laughed. Akashi had bundled up the girl in his arms, setting her precociously on his lap so as to let their legs hang over the cliff face. Naruto was able to pull all sorts of pranks with unnatural slyness and slipperiness, butter agility would do nothing if she fell. “We had fun, though, right Naruto?”

“Yeah!” She beamed, throwing her arms around Akashi’s neck. The ten year-old choked at the action, pitching forward—

“Now, don’t play here,” Akahiko chided, snagging the back of Akashi’s shirt.

“Sorry, Akahiko,” the two echoed.

The eldest of the trio waved off the hollow apologies. It wasn’t like he’d watched them die when he could do something and neither was her particularly emotive about meeting the Konoha Military Police Force. For the umpteenth time. It certainly wasn’t the first time they’d been scolded by them.

“It’s fine,” he said. “We’ll get scolded, threatened with some sort of charge regarding public disturbance, and do it all again in a week. Or tomorrow.”

Naruto matched Akahiko’s grin. “Boring’s no fun!”

“No, boring isn’t fun,” Akashi indulged, echoing her sentiment. “So we make Konoha fun how?”

“By being crazy!”

“Yeah!” Akashi cheered, lifting Naruto up as high as he could. “We’re crazy!”

“I like being crazy!”

“Me too!”

Akahiko shook his head, a fond smile never leaving his face as he did so. Hearing their feral was something he loved—no matter how annoying it may be. If he could bottle it up and listen to their joy for the rest of eternity, he would. It was certainly a cacophony but their glee was just to pure to let go.

(If things could stay happy and merry Akahiko would sacrifice his life a thousand times over.)

**— [ + ] —**

“Ah, you lot just missed the most recent set of police officers.”

Akahiko snorted. “That’s a nice welcome home, Amai- _obā-chan_.”

“ _Tadaima_!” Akahiko crowed, Naruto echoing him. Akahiko’s younger cousin helped the blonde step out of her outdoor footwear, exchanging her sandals for a pair of soft slippers in the _genkan_.

“ _Okaeri_ ,” Amane laughed at the mismatched trio. “And that wasn’t a welcome, nephew, just an observation.”

“ _Sure_ …”

“ _OBĀ-CHAN_!” Naruto assaulted the woman’s legs. “Guess what me and Akashi did!”

“Akashi and I,” Amane amended idly, petting the girl’s messy hair. “And I can see you did some kind of fun.”

“A _lot_ of fun!” Naruto corrected, practically chirping. Her blue eyes were wide, glittering with mirth. They looked like a pair of chipped sapphires, so vibrant in shade. “We played tag—“

“In the market, I heard,” Amane interrupted sardonically, snorting. Her own blue eyes, lighter and more silverly in colour, held no ill will against the children. In fact, she looked more amused than anything even if her voice betrayed her. “But no one was hurt?”

Did someone try to hurt you?

That was what Amane wanted to ask.

But Naruto was a sweet child, thriving with affection and glee. It would cause her undue harm—no matter if it wasn’t physical—if she brought up the subtle bullying. Or the attempts to be subtle at it. The civilians could be a nasty bunch—worse than _shinobi_ on some days. Their military personnel had a better understanding of the why’s and how’s, having some inkling of how sealing worked. But the other fraction of the population, where chakra was a strictly _shinobi_ tool, the concept was more abstract and nonsensical like a fantasy novel.

“Nope!”

Amane swallowed, making eye contact with the boys behind the girl. The both made a gesture of touching the space between their brows and then shaking their heads. “That’s good. I don’t see why the police showed up then.”

_We were watching. Nothing happened_.

(There was something almost historic in having a familial set of signs.)

“They’re just mean!”

“No,” Amane corrected, “they just have the job to make sure that people get along. Even if it means disappointing some people.”

Naruto crinkled her nose rather adorably. “Mean.”

The elderly woman sighed, feeling her shoulders set heavily as the boys laughed with Naruto. “No, _not_ mean.”

“Mean!” Naruto giggled, singing in a pitch that made her voice roll.

Clearly the girl was trying to bait her—someone who had a nearly fifty years on her—into a childish, fickle argument. While children found real fighting scary, bickering was something they seemed to delight in. Especially with adults. Liking the way frustration and annoyance set into an adult’s features as they tried reason, but a child’s reason was in a wholly different plane.

Amane refused to give into such baiting.

**.**

**.**

**.**

_What the Hell._

“… _Not_ mean.”

Naruto’s bursting peal of laughter meant everything to Amane.

(Amane missed when her son was this small, missed when she could heave him in her arms, the way she did his daughter.)

**— [ + ] —**

“Oh,” Akashi made a show of being dramatic. The red head had slid the _shoji_ door open, letting the crimson light spill into the room without filter. He leaned over the _engawa_ , and from just the sound of his voice Amane could _hear_ him squinting. “It’s sunset—guess you’re sleeping here again, huh, Naruto?”

Naruto, despite being asked the question, ignored him. Instead, she favoured paying attention to Amane. The elder taking the time and exercising the patience to explain what she was cooking.

Well, her ignorance could be forgiven—cooking was a science.

Akahiko got up without a word, going to set up the futons that both she and Akashi used in the boy’s room. She may insist that she was a big girl, but Naruto hated sleeping alone. Akahiko did, however, make some loud comments as to being more timely next excursion. Or else the orphanage administrators nag them.

The _faker_.

It certainly wasn’t something they hid—the Atari family held a lot of distaste for the orphanage system.

It was no secret that the village’s orphanage was more militant with timing than a number of _shinobi_ establishments. Most of which tended to have some kind of service at all times—given the chaotic schedule of the personnel. However, the orphanage on the other hand was somehow less forgiving. The children cared for there were a mix of civilian, clan-less, and small clan children. Unfortunate children that had no eligible caretakers. And you would think they’d afford to spend more money on establishments that supported children—especially if they had trauma—but the truth was… _no_.

That was not the case.

The children were made to eat at very specific times thrice a day—once at seven in the morning, another at twelve, and an evening meal at five. They were given a total of forty-five minutes to serve themselves, eat and clean up. Baths were given between six to eight, with a session lasting no longer than fifteen minutes. Children in school, whether civilian, trade, or _shinobi_ , were seen off between eight and nine while the rest were given basic lessons and made to play. Apart from meals and bath, the children were generally unsupervised until bedtime—which was exactly at nine. However, the orphanage’s doors closed at sunset exactly with no exceptions.

Like that actually had sense.

While the administrators did leave snacks for the odd hour—like an early wake or a late day—they absolutely did not bend on their schedule.

No matter how many times Amane had voiced it as being “wackass” and “full of shit.”

(Come _on_ , she doubted those restrictions were even in place during the actual Warring Clans Era.)

So if Naruto ended up out past sunset—and therefore without an orphanage bed—and ended up finding refuge elsewhere, then the village shouldn’t have a problem with that. In fact, they should praise the girl for being so resourceful. Wasn’t that a trait they strove to train into their ninja?

And even if there were people that objected, it wasn’t as if the Atari Clan were actively influencing Naruto in a way that another clan, perhaps, would.

If anything, Naruto was influencing _them_ —making them play and interact with the other villagers.

(Even if those other villagers baulked and ran away once their parents demanded them to.)

They certainly weren’t encouraging her to misbehave and rebel against the orphanage either—loudly scolding her to be timely for everyone to hear.

So what could the people complain about?

Especially when the Hokage didn’t.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Amane may be denied the right to her granddaughter’s guardianship, but Hiruzen wouldn’t dare try to stop her from parenting the girl.

Hiruzen was smarter than that—he’d leave Danzo, alone, to suffer the woman’s wrath.

Because as if her face and hair didn’t do enough to remind them of who her father was, Amane’s temper sure did. And yet still, it would be rather shameful and ebarassring if they did manage to forget just who Amane’s father was. After all, they promised him they’d take care of her until either they or she died. And if they couldn’t give her this—no matter how much she hated the way she was raising Naruto like this—they would’ve failed at their promise. It didn’t matter if four of the six remained, they had all sworn to her father that they’d take care of and her own.

They owed that to Amane, at the least.

It was no secret she wished that one of the six of them had chosen to stay behind instead of her Papa.

(They’d already failed her enough.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos, Wildman902, Thri_here, Xayah_Laufeyson, Yuni_K_chan24, JunniQueen, Punk_Sass, and the guests. Even more thanks to the people who bookmarked this fic, LadyCielP and greentealatte! Hope you guys liked this new addition and can't wait for comments xoxo


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